


These Happy Golden Years

by FreshBrains



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Community: comment_fic, F/F, First Meetings, Gen, Married Couple, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We have one of those old classic love stories."</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Happy Golden Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Truthwritaslies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truthwritaslies/gifts).



> For truthwritaslies' LJ comment_fic prompt: _Agent Carter, Peggy/Angie, It took her until their twilight years but Peggy finally got up the courage to ask Angie to marry her._

Steve still visited Peggy every week like clockwork—Monday afternoons to take her on a walk down the hallway and then have supper with her in her room.  She wasn’t worsening, wasn’t getting better, she was just Peggy—smiling with words of teasing wisdom, always ready to give Steve a reality check. 

But one afternoon Steve came in with a bouquet of daisies (one of Peggy’s inexpensive favorites) and saw a similar bouquet already on her night table as Peggy dozed peacefully, thriller novel face-down in her lap. 

“Great minds, huh?” A woman’s voice said from the end of the room near the foot of Peggy’s bed.  “Peg always liked her daisies.  Cheap date.” Her sturdy, wrinkled hands furiously worked a pair of knitting needles in her lap, a skein of magenta yarn trailing down to her purse.  She looked up and grinned at Steve.  “Nice to finally meet you, Captain.  You know, I met the fella who played you on the radio shows back in the day, but then I saw you on the TV news the other day and I must say, you speak a whole lot better than that chump ever did.”

Steve paused in the doorway but he couldn’t help but smile at the woman.  She was tall and slender in blue jeans and a soft blue sweater, her brown hair streaked liberally with white and tied in a braid, her wheelchair decorated with colorful magnets and stickers.  She had to be Peggy’s age, maybe a little younger, but her clear blue eyes were mischievous and her smile bright.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t place you.  Are you one of Peggy’s friends?”

The women made a little noise of dissent and continued clacking her needles.  “That’s what they used to call us, you know.  I’m Margaret’s wife, Angie Martinelli.” She sat her knitting in her lap and stuck out her hand, nails painted bright pink. 

Steve shook it, mouth slightly open.  “Peggy’s wife?  I’m confused.”

“Close your mouth, sweetie, you’ll catch flies,” Angie said with a grin.  “You know, once us ladies get old and grey and stop wearing the new fashions, they stop writing about us in the papers.  Peggy was always real thankful for that, you know how she hated people in her business, but I sure didn’t mind.  Let ‘em look.”

Steve flushed, still holding the flowers and looking at Angie.  “Oh, I apologize.  I’m only confused that I’ve never heard about you, Miss Martinelli.”  He made a point not to pry into the personal lives of his old friends, even though he had access to her files.  He only knew professionally of her relationship with Gabe Jones.  But a marriage, and to a woman?  He always knew Peggy had female lovers, but none so serious.

“We have one of those old classic love stories,” Angie sighed, picking up and inspecting her knitting—a pair of soft slippers, the kind that looked like socks.  She cocked an eyebrow and held it up to Steve.  “How’s this look?  Nice and neat?” Steve nodded, and she gently lifted the bed-sheet over Peggy’s feet (toenails polished in the same pink as Angie’s fingers).  She slid the finished slippers over Peggy’s bare feet and tucked the needles and yarn back into her purse.  “Peggy will be so annoyed when she wakes up.  She’s so darn sick of this color, she wore it out in the 50’s.”

Steve laughed and sat down across from Angie, settling the daisies along with the other bouquet.  “If you don’t mind me asking, does she…you?” He stumbled over his words, not sure if the subject was too sensitive.

“Remember me?  Yeah, thank the lord.  But only the past fifteen years or so.”  Angie sighed, cheeks puffed out comically, and relaxed back into her chair.  “We’ve had a fun run, Captain Rogers.  I went my own way during the sixties, raised a family.  Peggy always had her work.  But we found each other in the end, two old biddies with nothing else to prove.”

Steve caught a glimpse of the simple band on Angie’s finger—two of them, actually, one silver and one gold.  Steve guessed one was from Angie’s first husband.  “When did you and Peggy marry?”

Angie barked out a laugh and rolled her eyes.  “Only last year.  This woman here was so funny, proposing to me like I wasn’t expecting it for years.  She’s still a scream.” Her hand wandered to Peggy’s ankle, rubbing it gently through the sheet.  “It’s one thing she always remembers.  But she doesn’t remember when we were young, and she was still trying to make it in the SSR, and I was living in the old Griffith…” she licked her lips, eyes going misty, and cleared her throat. 

“Were those good years?” The question caught in Steve’s throat.  He was always hungry for affirmation when it came to the ones he loved before the freeze; always needing to know their lives were full and bright and big, that all the war sacrifices were worth it.

Angie grinned, showing strong white teeth—she never smoked, or quit long ago, Steve noted.  “Oh, they were the best years.  Adventure and intrigue, all that romantic stuff.” She looked up at Steve with pride in her eyes.  “I saw her succeed so well, Captain.  From the woman no one wanted on their team to the woman who _created_ the team.  She was a hero.”  She laughed and looked up at Peggy’s sleeping face.  “ _Is_ a hero.”

“I’ll say,” Steve whispered, and looked away politely when Angie took Peggy’s hand in hers, kissed the gnarled knuckles. 

“Before I forget,” Angie said, digging into her seemingly endless purse, “I found this in my granddaughter’s house the other day.  One of Peg’s old scrapbooks, all sorts of fun stuff.  You can see some of the old blowhards she used to make coffee for become her employees.” She handed him the worn paper book.  “Keep it.  We’ve got a hundred more.”

Steve nodded and held the book gently, reverently.  “I’m glad to know you, Miss Martinelli.”

Peggy stirred a bit in her sleep, humming as she woke.  Angie’s eyes softened as she looked at her wife with pure love and awe.  Steve knew he looked at her the same way.  “And I’m glad to know you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve slipped out before Peggy woke, leaving the flowers, the book clutched to his chest.  He knew a private moment when he saw one, and even if he didn’t make it back for a week, he’d know Peggy was in the best hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the book of the same name by Laura Ingalls Wilder.


End file.
